Tatters We Let
by Melpomene melancholica
Summary: 5 women and what they let be. 1st, Ino. 2nd, Hinata. 3rd, Sakura. 4th, Tenten.
1. tatters we let

Disclaimer: Naruto not mine. Kishimoto's. (Sorry. Sleepy.)

**Tatters We Let - 1st Fragment**

When the pot of petunia fell, it lacked the acrobatic verve that so heightened the mood in those tension-jarred drama scenes. This one merely swerved off the side of the counter and smashed against the floor, quick and prosaic. The plain pot lay disemboweled, the rich loam of its insides spattered about like old blood and bits of flesh. The indigo flowers, not very robust from the start, was mashed against the dirt floor, and the thin roots and spindly stem were rather grotesquely splayed out.

Ino grimaced and instantly fetched a paired brush and dustpan of cheap plastic. She knelt before the mess but paused in contemplation, focused on a random smudge of dirt. The mass was stirring; a hint of magenta curled into view, retracted. Ino ignored it and began to pick up the fractured pieces of clay, casually waving away her companion's belated efforts of bending over.

"Don't bother," she said, sparing her old teammate a crotchety glance. "What with your travel time," she muttered. "I can get five of this cleaned up before you get down here."

The kunoichi did a double take, as she stood up. (The pan that held the dirt matched the pale blue of her eyes. Her mother was subject to attacks of sentimentality like that.)

"Are those carrots?" she demanded from the hulking form of her fellow jounin.

"So what?" Chouji growled back, munching on the root crop a little too viciously.

"Ah, nothing," she said hastily. Chouji's weight issues had never been open to discussion, even among the InoShikaChou. The unsaid consensus was that it wasn't necessarily a problem that needed solving. "I'll get you another pot of petunia from the greenhouse."

"Nah. Don't bother. I'd rather get those blue things, anyway." He pointed to the poised, spear-like arrangement of blossoms. "Prettier."

"Hyacinths? But I thought your wife wanted petunias."

"Yeah, but Majo's pretty laid-back like that. She won't mind."

Ino sniffed. "I would have gone ballistic."

"Ever noticed I don't have my name appended to yours?"

"Ever noticed I can easily knock you down like one of your potted petunias?"

"Speaking of Shikamaru—"

"We were speaking of that useless bum?"

"Yeah. It's his name appended to yours."

"Just my luck. You know what? I once came upon our good-for-nothing fathers piss-drunk, and overheard them talking about how your dad and that lazy bastard's dad actually drew lots to decide who gets me way back when we were babies." The kunoichi bared her teeth. "I had to leave the village to keep from gutting the lot of them where they sat, steeping in sake."

"Just my luck," repeated Chouji piously.

"The joke is getting old," snapped Ino.

The other held up his meaty hands placatingly, choosing to omit mentioning that it was Ino who started the topic, anyway. "I was saying, Shika's due home today, right?"

"If you say so," Ino shrugged. "I'll get you your petunias. Wait here."

"Ino—"

"I know Majo-san, too, idiot. Behind that angelic smile is a powerful left hook."

"But it's her way of showing affection!" Chouji called after her. "Hey, Ino!"

The petunias appeared a little later, followed by the flower seller herself.

"I was going to say," Chouji continued through a mouthful of carrots. "Is there any chance I get to see my best friend before you lock him up and have your way with him?"

The blonde gave him the finger.

"Clear enough." Chouji sighed. "How much for the petunias?"

"A favor: tell Azuma-sensei to mind his own damned business."

Chouji scratched his head. "That's too bad. He was going to treat me to a shabu-shabu dinner in exchange for info. You sure you won't tell me how long you'll detain the man?"

Ino rolled her eyes and thrust the tray of perennials to her old genin cellmate. "Here's your petunias. Goodbye."

Sex-life or what-not, no aspect of her relationship with her insufferable husband was open for discussion, not with Sakura, not with Chouji, not with anybody.

------

A few hours later, Ino went home with the de-potted petunia, already painting in her mind a pretty picture designating the plant's new container, a blue and white porcelain with the likeness of a laughing fish, and the plant's new home, the kitchen window sill. It was high time she replaced the cactus she had beaned Shikamaru with last week.

Nara Ino kept her household with a fierce pride that rivaled even that which she had as a kunoichi. Despite the barrage of missions she continued to take, her two children didn't suffer from any lack of mothering. They were fed with three balanced meals daily, with two healthy snacks in between. Indolence was not tolerated, and chores were divided equally. She made time to tutor and train them, sating their boundless six-year old enthusiasm for activity.

That was not to say that little Sanae and Ien were regimented to the point of being stifled. They were happy, good-natured children, as sunny as their looks, as sharp as the kunai they've only started to wield. It was she who struggled to keep up with them. Sometimes, she could only manage to stare at them in awe—who birthed those two? A hundred times more talented than her, a hundred times more motivated than their father. . . This early, they made her awfully lonely at times.

Today, for instance, would be their second day away from home. The Rokudaime Hokage had gone camping with the Academy's new students for this year, a program he had whipped up to help link generations, he said. Ino wasn't particularly interested with Naruto's reasoning, but she had her own reasons for sending off her children.

They're so very smart, see, so very self-sufficient. It'll be so easy for them to shirk from a world that couldn't function as highly as they were capable. Let them recuperate, retreat from it, as needed, but they must learn to live in it.

"Play nice," she told them. "But if a mean kid tries to hit you—"

"Hit 'em right back," came the gleeful chorus.

"Daddy says to duck first," said Sanae.

"But that's a given," pointed out her brother.

Mommy had sent them off with a smile, then suffered by herself in the unbearable silence of their empty home. Two days from now, it would be Daddy to welcome them home. Mommy had a mission tomorrow, and she wouldn't be back for a while.

When Ino arrived home, she immediately noted her husband's presence. Rice was already cooking—just enough for two, she noted approvingly when she peeped into the gurgling cooker. A glistening bowlful of greens sat on the kitchen counter. From the sink, the fish, gutted and cleaned, looked up at her with their dead eyes, probably waiting for her to cremate them. (Not that she would. Ino did not overcook food, let alone burn them.)

Shikamaru, of course, was in the bathroom. He wouldn't emerge till later, after hours of soaking in a tub to loosen dirt, grime, blood

(guilt)

and since it was his turn to clean the bathroom this week, he was probably already doing that, too.

Ino squirmed. The man had such bad timing. If he had delayed going into the bathroom for just five minutes, she would have been able to go first. Not that she really, really needed to pee right then and there. Eventually, that would be the case, though, and she'd probably end up running to the neighbors' to use their toilet.

His debriefing time in the bathroom, what she had taken to calling it, was one of his little quirks and habits she couldn't really understand. Well, what was to understand about them? Perhaps, the better way to say it was, she couldn't relate to them. Her life, her existence, was much simpler, more straightforward than his. . .

Not for the first time, Ino was thankful the twins were twins. She had known growing up that it had been lonely being a Haruno Sakura, what with her big forehead and the brain it housed within. Only lately had she realized that it must have been worse for a Nara Shikamaru, though of course, Chouji was there. (And her? she wouldn't even try patching herself into the picture). The insufferable man was lazy from growing up lacking intellectual stimulation, Ino was convinced. Nowadays, his life as a ninja provided that, but he needed to have a safe place to be himself, too, to be honest and think and speak at his level—wouldn't that do wonders for his personality? She could turn him into her pet project, sort of like with Sakura-chan, who didn't turn out badly herself, protégée of the Godaime. Ino did recognize her limits, however. Shikamaru was too immense a project to take on.

She had surprised herself when she agreed to marry the eternally-bored bum. (She wasn't really surprised that he did.) It was so very convenient, anyway: she didn't have to look for a husband. They knew each other well enough not to fall apart once the permanence of the situation set in. She wasn't overwhelmed by his bad habits. He wasn't intimidated by her bossiness. They pretty much coexisted, and she had become very comfortable, very complacent, in her life with him.

(A mistake: she let her guard down.)

Ino stood up suddenly, unable to take the increasing pressure in her bladder. Ah, Sawamatsu-san next door would be weaving at this time of the day. She could call on her to chat till dinner time, incidentally use their restroom first.

Instead of sprinting for the front door, Ino found herself marching up to the bathroom and hammering on the door.

"How long are you going to be in there?" she hollered. "Ugh! Don't answer that. Just let me in!"

The grumbling was barely audible above the steady trickling of water.

"Open the door, damn it. It's my bathroom, too, and I need to talk to you!"

The door opened to the disgruntled face of a sopping wet man clutching a haphazardly thrown on towel and a much-abused sponge.

Ino just stood there for a full minute, breathing a little hard from the exertion of running up the stairs and screaming her lungs out.

"Woman," he asked cantankerously. "What can possibly not wait till I finish cleaning your damned bathroom?"

"I need to pee," she muttered. She brushed past him, flopped down the toilet, and did her business.

"That's it?" he drawled moments after the flushing sound had died down. "If it's not too troublesome, talk to me later after I finish this."

"I lied; I'm not here to talk."

Ino came to him,

(patched herself, patched herself into the picture)

flung her arms around his wet body, and, with the tightly screwed eyes of a nightmare-roused child confronting the narrowed, darkened hallway that spanned the gulf to her parents' room in the middle of the night, she kissed him.

He kissed her back.

"Ino." His expression had considerably altered from the let's-get-this-over-with one he habitually wore. "I've only been gone a week and only to Sand."

"And I'll be gone for more and farther," she snapped. She delved back into his mouth, holding him in place by a clawing grip on his dark hair. "Shut up."

He was usually an obedient sort of spouse despite his procrastinating and complaining. He allowed her to take her fill of him, standing still as her feverish hands roamed, desperately gripped, as her kisses deepened, beg, despaired. . . Sponge and towel were soon abandoned to trampling, for his hands were busy on the voluptuousness of her body, for his hands were clever, oh-so clever, swindling her of her clothes and her only noticing when she was as starkly naked as he was.

He pushed her onto the floor, not into the lukewarm tub of water with which he had cleansed himself

(off his sins)

but on the cold, hard tiles he had just been scrubbing with the dilapidated sponge.

(What were you really scrubbing so squeaky clean? The floors? The walls? The corners of your conscience?)

She wasn't the sort of woman who'd hesitate taking what was rightfully hers. Breaking free from his hold, she moved to reposition herself, intent on straddling his supine form, intent on taking control.

(I know about her.)

And then, she couldn't move, was effortlessly overpowered.

Ino gnashed her teeth, furious. He used her own shadow to entrap her, that damned cheap trick he kept using unscrupulously! She was back to where she was, pinned under him.

"You cheat!" she accused.

(I know about her.)

"You liar," he murmured lazily. "You told me you'd be here tomorrow."

(I know about her!)

Ino didn't know what it was that melted her like so, but she was like glue in his hands, amorphous and tenaciously clinging. She wasn't the sort of woman to share something like this with another woman, but then she wasn't the sort of woman to fall for this sort of man, anyway. Despite his numerous shortcomings, Shikamaru was a very thorough lover. He had an annoyingly great number of little attributes that made him extremely indispensable, one of which was that, unbeknownst to the rest of the world, he did have a heart to match his massive brain.

(Which was probably why he was still there, in that tiny house, with its stifling walls, in one of its stifling rooms, giving his body to her in all its entirety, never mind that she had no clue at all whether his heart and soul were included in the package, because he had never told her so and she had never asked.)

---

The next day, Ino had to stop by the flower shop on her way out of Konohagakure no Sato. She had been distracted yesterday afternoon, apparently, for she had accidentally gone home with the bunch of keys to the Yamanaka storerooms.

Chouji was in the shop, as early as she was, talking congenially with her mother.

"Majo did want those hyacinths, too," he explained. "Will help with symmetry."

She nodded and stooped down curiously, noticing she had missed a clump of dirt from yesterday's spilled petunia. Again, a hint of magenta curled out—the earthworm was still there. She thought it would have crawled out yesterday, would have shriveled up because of the heat and dryness.

"Ino." Chouji broke into her reverie seriously. "Did you talk to him?"

Her lack of response was answer enough it seemed.

"I'm paying for a tray of petunias, too, Yamanaka-san," Chouji politely informed Ino's mother. "I didn't get to pay for the one I got yesterday from Ino."

Ino snorted as she stood up. "Not like I can't tell Azuma-sensei to buzz off myself, Chouji."

In spite of these words, it didn't slight her pride to receive compassion from other people. In silent thanks, she took for herself a comforting bear hug from her friend, and then went on her way.

-00:40 091606

Notes:

1. Written for 31days community theme for September 18, such is the bondage of folly.

2. Don't know why I used petunias, but apparently they can mean anger and resentment and "your presence soothes me." Oooh. . .

3. Characterizations: on all three, very rusty. Sorry, Kishimoto-sensei, I haven't read you for the last 20 chapters. TT

4. InoShikaTem's been an idea I've been obsessed with for a year or so now. Finally acted on the obsession. Eheh.


	2. simplicity

Disclaimer: Naruto not mine. Kishimoto's. (Sorry. Sleepy. Again.)

**Tatters We Let - 2nd Fragment - simplicity**

21:55 092106

In one of the last holdfast of night, Hinata awakened to the faint glimmer of the coming dawn. Because her grasp on sleep has already softened to a tenuous hovering by this time, she was wont to awaken to the slightest sensations, this morning, to the bedevilment of winter air on a wandering foot. She withdrew the appendage into the heavy warmth of the comforter, encountering in the process another wayward leg. Its owner flinched from the iciness of her toes, then shifted to engulf her in a wave of arms, legs, a good size of torso. . . Even in his sleep, Naruto was attentive to her needs in a hundred subtle ways that still startled her now and then.

His warmth lulled her into a sated half-doze, one she only briefly indulged in. She wriggled free from his hold and slowly sat up to the shock of the much colder room. As much as she enjoyed cuddling with her affectionate half, her other senses also clamored for satisfaction, and it was her eyes she chose to indulge next. His sleep, the darkness, suffused his usual sun-strong glow into a homey incandescence akin to those of the paper lanterns in the garden; he was golden even in the unlit room, and she basked in his light.

Naruto's lanky form was limpid, his limbs carelessly jumbled with the bedclothes. His mouth hung open, just a but so, through which air whistled in and out in cadence with the shifting of his chest. His eyes, a crystal blue the indigo skies promised for later, swam around lazily underneath lids ajar. She edged nearer to gaze into their sheen, noting her distorted image on their sleep-glazed surfaces. She smiled a private smile.

The smile stayed a few still moments, then Hinata allowed it to slip off with a subtle shrug. Tenderly, she rearranged the comforter to better swaddle him—he looked quite comical with his whiskered face sticking out of the fluffy cotton and only a tuft of his light hair visible. She would let him sleep a while longer, let him be with his peace, his dreams.

Again, Hinata shook free of such thoughts and decided to go for an early start. The training rooms should be empty at this time, so she could work on her forms in their shadow-shrouded silence, half-meditating as the outside bloomed to morning. (Neji-nii preferred to roam among the titanic trees under the haunting pre-dawn light. Hanabi slept on, would awaken only to the aroma of breakfast.) A semblance of mastery, of course, had come to her years ago, after even more years of relentless fighting. There was something uplifting and energizing—cleansing—about the swift, subtle movements of the Gentle Fist. It was a discipline, after all, not merely a collection of techniques.

(And there were habits hard to break.)

Hinata prepared to stand, rose from her haunches, and pushed herself to her feet. She didn't quite reach that far, losing her balance instead and catching herself with a knuckle to the floor. Startled, she looked askance at the thin material of her sleeping kimono, pulled taut. It was caught on a tightly curled fist.

In spite of herself, she relented to a smile and sat down on the futon to work herself free from his clutches. Oh, but it seemed his grip on the well-worn cotton was for dear life. Briefly, she entertained the thought of leaving the cloth behind, when she noted that the swimming blues underneath those gold-fletched lids had come to a standstill.

She blushed rosily.

"G-good morning," she ventured.

Still through half-lidded eyes, his gaze at her cleared a bit. He was certainly awake now.

"Morning," he murmured.

"Sorry to wake you."

"But not about trying to escape, huh?" he accused. He sat up to peer at her closely. "I didn't get to see you last night."

"Anata–"

"Awake, I mean."

"Sorry, I fell asleep." She smiled sheepishly. "I tried to wait though. Promise."

"Not getting the point, are we?" Naruto frowned at her. "Are you okay, Hinata-chan? Really?"

"Yes." She fought back the instinct to elude his earnest eyes and met his probing stare with her lucent one. "Really."

"'Cause if they're all—"

"Really." This she repeated firmly.

"Why were you avoiding me then?" he persisted.

"I wasn't." She sighed. "I just wanted to let you sleep a bit more before you have to get up."

"Who says I have to get up soon?" he challenged, eyes dancing with mischief. "I think I want to sleep in this morning."

"Naruto–"

"You can join me, if you want. Say sorry for being sneaky and all that."

Hinata couldn't help but smile against his lips as he pulled her back under the covers.

"Not that you have any choice," he added, a breathless moment later.

She decided not to contest that.

-----

Konohagakure no Sato was nestled in the depths of the perilous forests of the massive Fire country. Said to be neutral, said to be invisible, it was nonetheless a bastion of power, source of subtle touches that moved the world, the jewel that ranked Fire among the Five Shinobi countries. The facelessness, the solidarity, the seeming oneness of identity was fiction, but a fiction that was necessary for the maintenance of such forbidding strength. Ninja villages were as fractured as their lay counterparts. Konoha was no exception.

Ninjas dabbled in the goings-on in the darker side of humanity, earned their bread by associating with Death. Nonetheless, the directions to take, the wheels to grease, the gears to stall, was determined by a hundred little things—by the leader, yes, but the leader was ideally the servant to the societies they lead. In actuality. . .

The ability, the effectiveness of such an ability, to influence the decision of one so cornerstone to the tides of the globe, was a sure measure of power. The clan of Hyuuga had of late obtained so direct a link to precarious peak, so stealthily that many were left speechless at its wake. Many believed twilight had descended upon the venerable family, an insidious crippling degeneration that was as final as the sudden annihilation of the clan Uchiha. But like the village Hyuuga deigned offer allegiance to, it rose to reclaim the forbidding might of the legends. The Godaime Tsunade, erratic as she was, was often the one credited for wrenching Konoha from the woes of betrayals and invasions. The source of Hyuuga's rebirth was more of a mystery, more diffuse, and harder to pinpoint. No family, however, had ever displayed such power so blatantly.

Hyuuga Hinata was the pinnacle of said power. Current head of the clan, she was also wife to the preeminent ninja of Leaf, one of the most powerful men in the world, the Hokage.

Hinata-sama became consort to the Hokage the same year the elders and clan leaders advanced the young man to the post. It was a move that set off indignant murmurs through out the village, ones the Rokudaime made no move to silence. The man was refreshingly novel, exasperatingly singular. . . The village was still getting used to him. Despite his odd gift of easing people to see his point of views, he did not dare announce his contempt for their protests over his choice of mate. His past exploits promised a brilliant future, but that would not save him should he choose to slight his own citizens.

She kept her name, for her new husband had none to give her. To be Hokage was to be loyal to the village and the village alone. Surnames vanished, replaced by a title, a number, and a vast responsibility. Some, however, saw this as further testament to the extent of Hyuuga's might. They would not suffer another man to preside over the illustrious clan, not even the one heralded as best. Hinata remained a Hyuuga.

How much was known of the woman at the crux of all this? Very little. She was silent, as enigmatic as the opaline eyes that named her. The clan kept her jealously close—always, her steps were dodged by her two closest kin, Neji, the one called genius even by the exacting standards of the Gentle-fist users, and Hanabi, the diminutive but severe kunoichi, no less able than her cousin. They were a triumvirate, a concession to changing times, but only in appearance. It was a well known fact that Hinata wore the two legends like weapons on her hips.

Malicious whispers did not spare the Hokage, of course. With the deeply rooted legacy of the Hyuuga at arms length, it only added to the Rokudaime's ability to serve the interest of Konoha, of Fire country, of the world in general, even his own.

In which order?

Time, as always, was to make the revelation.

---

Winter made the days brief, sending them scurrying over the mountains every afternoon, that evenings barely hinted passing through dusk at all. Tonight, the moon was very blue, touching its hue on the glazing today's frost brought about. Hinata paused in the middle of the winding stairways that connected the village offices from one face of the hill to another. The half-finished bust of the most recent Hokage was ominous under the ethereal light, like a smudged charcoal drawing, an artist's blithe erasure. She shivered but not from the cold.

"Oneesama, the next step would be to step down to the next step. In case, you've forgotten."

Hinata turned to the owner of the surly voice and smiled tightly. "I haven't, Hanabi-chan," she said, as she resumed walking down the icy steps. "But I appreciate the reminder, as always."

"If you're going to ask for advice," spoke up her other companion. "Now would be the perfect time."

"Thank you, nii-san," replied Hinata. "I'd sleep on the matter first. Tomorrow, we can decide."

"Though you've actually decided, right?" Hanabi stated bluntly.

Hinata smiled again. "I've always been transparent to you, sister."

"Do you doubt me?"

Again, the clan head halted. "Hanabi?"

"Like nii-san said. Now is the time to come clean. Do you doubt me?"

"Hanabi, I've never—"

"Then don't hold back on me. If you're pissed off, then be pissed off. This is your chance. Vent now!"

"I am angry," came the quiet admission. "But fear curtails it within reason."

"You should have shoved their proposal up their asses," continued Hanabi in the same low and flat voice. "Conflicts of interest. . . Years ago, they would even look at him because he was nobody, but now that he's Hokage—"

"Wrong," Neji spoke up. "They wouldn't accept him because they knew he was going to be Hokage. It was too risky a connection, since Hinata-sama wasn't as tractable as they all hoped."

"She isn't tractable now, but they had allowed her marriage."

"Which is why we are here. _We_ allowed her marriage. We 'gave' her permission, remember?"

"That is so full of shit, and you know it, niisan."

Hinata sighed. "Nobody had to give anybody permission," she said, as she resumed walking. "Let's leave it at that."

"Aren't you going to do anything?" Hanabi turned to her cousin furiously. "It's self-destructive behavior!"

"What Hinata-sama plans to do or not do hardly warrants their permission, let alone mine."

"What Hinata-sama has to learn is practical politics, even the rudiments of it! This sort of insolence cannot be allowed. The main family—no, the Hyuuga!—pride cannot be degraded thus. And a woman of her position—"

"Practical politics," Neji repeated. "After all, we can't let them know Hinata-sama has a mind of her own."

At that Hinata burst out laughing. "W-what a way to put it, Neji-nii," she wheezed.

"Then what do we tell them?" demanded Hanabi. "All that romantic crap about destiny and undying love?"

"We've discussed and decided. A divorce would benefit neither the village nor the clan and would in fact weaken us to the eyes of the enemies. . . more importantly, to that of our own ninjas."

"But that'll make it seem like the clan's ready to acquiesce to small favors. The Hyuuga elders will go up in flames."

"It will also make it seem like the clan's ready to squeeze out every possible profit from this connection. The village elders will go up in flames, as well."

"Oneesama, you're going to get us killed," muttered Hanabi.

Hinata merely pressed on, her mind already on more pleasant matters.

---

In the innermost chambers of the Hyuuga's sacred home, the most important young woman in the whole building could be foundd sheathed by shadows. Her raiment was fine, the dark ceremonial robe of the clan head. The position she was currently in was hardly flattering, however. It seemed one sandal was stubbornly refusing to be unclasped.

Hopping on one bare foot, she struggled to relinquish her other foot while keeping from falling flat on her face, heavy clothes and all. After several breathless moments of tugging, the chord slipped free. The whiplash sent her tottering for a bit, before she was able to find her way back to her two feet, steady once again. She dusted off her stiff, pearl gray kimono, and looked up—

Only to bow down low automatically.

She blinked, suddenly remembered, and straightened once more. She found herself face to face with startled blue eyes.

They both burst out laughing.

"It's only you, Hinata-chan," Naruto said sheepishly, as he too straightened. "You looked so formal and all that, that I. . . thought I entered the wrong house. Ahahahaha!"

"So do you." Hinata beamed at him, even as he removed the wide-brimmed hat that had been the signature feature of the late Sandaime Hokage. "Look formal, I mean."

Naruto tousled his already unruly hair. "I guess, it helps people listen to me," he said. "Anything interesting happen to you today?" He held out an arm to her.

"Not really," Hinata said, smiling lightly as she was nestled at the crook of his arm. "The usual things. You know."

"That's good to hear." His eyes danced. "Hinata-chan! I've got loads to tell you!"

They closed the door behind them firmly.

093001 23:30

Notes:

1. Written for 31days community theme for September 21, Greece with its immortal glories.

2. If you're following Sunergos, you might recognize the Neji-Hinata-Hanabi tandem.


	3. sunflowers

Disclaimer: Naruto is Kishimoto-sensei's property. Just borrowing for entertainment. Trust me, this thing has no monetary value whatsoever.

**Tatters We Let - 3rd Fragment - sunflowers**

During Konoha winters, the temperature rarely dipped enough to produce frozen precipitation, but it did dip down considerably. The ice that didn't fall from the skies were seemingly emitted by the hard earth instead. Polished wooden slats covered their dirt floor; the tightly placed flooring was a recent improvement to the old kitchen. Its smoothness gave it the feel of a frozen pond, which was why Sakura took her time gingerly stepping on it.

The cold easily stabbed through her thick socks, speared through her body. Clamping down to control the chattering of her teeth, she pulled the blanket tight about her frame. She had sighted the fleece cloth strewn over a door knob on her way down and had grabbed it to fend off the frigidity her bedroom had managed to keep out, but it was not as effective as the heavy comforter she had emerged from.

The vestiges of night didn't hamper her efficient preparations. She could somewhat see in the dimness—what she couldn't was readily supplemented by memory. Besides, there wasn't much of anything left to do. The rice cooker, a squat cyclops with its single red eye, sat on the counter, keeping rice from last night warm. Dried fish, more leftovers, were safely kept underneath a minutely fenestrated plastic dome. The much needed fire was readily produced, and with a turn of a dial, a crown of tiny blue flames began dancing on the stove top. Even after setting the pot of water, she lingered, rubbing her hands absently. Rinsing the plums would have to wait a few moments more. Even while filling the kettle, the cold that manage to climb up the handle was unpleasant and barely tolerable. She didn't feel like directly subjecting her flesh to that yet.

It was funny how she approached the winter morning in so piecewise a manner. Coldness possessed that sort of insidious destructiveness. In the end, if she stayed still enough, long enough, she could be rendered numb, her outer shell seared frozen.

As it was, she knew she wouldn't be subjected to such a demise today. The sensation was preceded by a movement: she saw his shadow zip past the corner of an eye before her neck prickled, before her guts were yanked low by a force, unnamed but not unknown. His lips were icy—he suffered the whims of weather as she did—but where they touched on her cheek burned. She touched a hand to the festering mark and dared turn around. His hooded eyes were trained on her with their, as of late, usual intensity. Her insides, momentarily melted by the chaste kiss, curdled into viscid desire. Her usually vivid eyes were dulled by the gray pre-dawn light; nonetheless, they revealed his effects on her: the dilated black holes had swallowed the greens. He nodded calmly in acknowledgment of this, as if the same heat wasn't percolating in his blood.

Finally, she swallowed past the lump in her throat.

"Yes?"

He broke his stare, shifted his dark eyes elsewhere. She followed him with hers as he brushed past her and took a plum from the brimming handwoven basket. It was beside her, as was the sink wherein he rinsed the fruit without a single flinch. He then departed without a backward glance, without further touching the breakfast set on the table or the woman who prepared it.

Sakura shivered at his wake. This time, it was not from cold.

---

By noon, she had finished cleaning the whole house, a fairly-sized one that gathered dust easily. They were the only two inhabitants who made a difference in the general tidiness, and they were both neater, more organized than average. They took turns with what was more of a weekly inspection of the house and the rest of the grounds. Most of the half day she had free was occupied with the laundry, the moody heating system, and some take-home paperwork.

For lunch, she ate what he didn't of breakfast and not because she particularly wanted to. She endured merely a few mouthfuls before being interrupted by an emergency situation in Konoha hospital.

---

After five hours of surgeries, Uchiha Sakura emerged from the hospital, tired but a bit more cheerful. Hokage-sama had summoned her for a brief meeting, so she was now making her way to the string of buildings holding various administrative offices. (Most of them were fictitious facades. Ninjas handled business under various guises. Even their bureaucracy was lifted from its usual association with tedium.)

With the constant fluster of activities about her, many of which spurred by her calm, concise orders, the messenger had neglected to tell her which Hokage to go to. She spent a quarter of an hour wandering the halls of the Hokage's office, but nobody seemed to know the whereabouts of either the Godaime or the Rokudaime. Ninjas had this tendency of being secretive, see.

Somehow, she found herself in the empty halls of the morgue. It was rarely used, as ninja corpses were often claimed by families and ministered to as customary per clan, while the civilians have their own facility. Also, one of the legacies of Orochimaru was the public's seemingly endemic aversion to the collection of several dead bodies in one place.

Speaking of the devil. . .

Her thoughts were interrupted. A pair of appendages came out of the darkness to snake about her waist. Caught by surprise, she barely had time to confirm that they were human in nature, before they curled up her torso, serpents instantly latched to the forbidden fruits. She slapped a hand away in apoplectic vexation, then spun around to break the face of her attacker.

Her fist connected beautifully against the masked face of the elite shinobi. He was one of the body cleaners, a group who made their base in the lower levels of the older buildings. They were in charge of eliminating all traces of Konoha nin operations. All traces.

"I've warned you about startling me like that," she snapped.

"Aa."

"Then, stop doing it!"

"I didn't evade you," he pointed out as he discarded the broken mask.

"That's not the point," she hissed, willing her pulses to decelerate back to normal.

"If you want to punish me some more, you'd have to wait later."

"What?" she barked fiercely. "This isn't some loan system! Being willing to accept punishments doesn't make it okay for you to just do what you please."

"You're being annoying."

"And you're being intolerable!"

But she didn't struggle when he moved to take her in his arms again. Nor did she when he dipped his head to capture her mouth in his.

After several breathless minutes, she was able to forcibly detach her face from his. She frowned at him in bemusement.

"I thought you were assigned to Abalone country."

He merely shook his head and resumed siphoning the remaining sense from her addling brain. As she didn't really give sufficient effort in her wriggle to escape, she was reduced into a mere ball of sensations. Eventually, he had to relinquish her for some oxygen, and she took advantage of it, brief as it was.

"Since when did your assignment change?"

"Yesterday."

"You didn't tell me."

"I just did."

She bit her cheek in an effort to quiet herself. His skin glowed eerily in the darkened hallway, but what was readily visible of him (only his neck and an ear, as he was tending to those parts of her) burned to match the shade of her cheeks.

She sighed, gave up the vestige of inhibition she clutched, and arched her back to give him better access to the places he sought.

"Not here," was the last protest she murmured, to which he readily acquiesced, pulling her into one of the abandoned labs of an era bygone.

It was later when she spoke again.

"Will you be there for dinner tonight?"

He nodded.

"I still have a meeting to attend," she said. "If I can find where," she added under her breath.

"The northeastern building, third floor. They're waiting for you."

She startled at this. "You had an audience with the village elders?"

Wordlessly, he zipped up the tight-fitting bodice she wore as her uniform. He then strapped on his own flak jacket.

"Did you. . . agree on a middle ground, at least?"

"You're running late," he said instead and vanished as suddenly as he appeared.

Sakura finished redressing herself.

---

Their marriage hadn't always been like this.

After the had gotten married, Sakura didn't even feel like they were for a long time. Nothing really changed, aside from her moving in. (Fine. So that warranted a lot of changes in terms of habits and routines, but there was no real earthshaking _change_.) Their relationship had always been characterized by silences and unexplained actions, brief conversations that were almost cryptic to those who overheard them and occasional heated arguments that were admittedly unavoidable. Their distant history had been rather dramatic and angst-ridden, but that virtually described most of Sasuke's past, anyway, and they had gradually moved past their respective issues. They were comrades for the longest time and got along decently enough. Neither of them was attached. It was a logical arrangement.

There was nothing romantic about it, nothing passionate. He visited her one rare day when they were both off work, and asked if she thought it would be a betrayal to the rest of the team, if she were to marry him. Sakura blinked and asked him if that was his roundabout way of proposing to her. He got irritated, so she answered she didn't think so, but they could still ask Kakashi and Naruto and, she supposed, Sai. Supposing he asked her, he said, what would she say? She told him, she'd say yes, she supposed, and then asked what the point of their conversation was, anyway. He ignored that question and told her to pick a date.

He explained to her that his ultimate goal now was the revival of Uchiha, just so she knew what was expected of her, and that this wasn't just about platonic companionship. She told him that was very kind of him, but he didn't seem to take offense at her sarcasm.

"You're twenty-seven, Sasuke," she had told him bluntly, when she finally started to digest the fact that he wasn't joking. "But you still should have married earlier, if you really wanted to repopulate your clan."

"You weren't ready back then," had been the calm reply that threw her off-kilter. "Being mednin was your primary preoccupation."

"You were. . . waiting for me?"

"The Uchiha matriarch could be no less a woman. It was an obvious choice."

". . ." She had stared at him before stammering a rejoinder. "You do realize there'd have to be even a little, uh. . . attraction involved here for this to work?

He had glared at her in annoyance. "It was a major factor in consideration," he said.

And the only thing she had been able to muster was a weak, "Oh. I see."

In spite of that, weeks passed after their wedding before they even consummated their marriage. Their passion was slow to build over the months, but she never really had any complaints in that department–not that she had many of any kind, in the first place. Sasuke was, to the surprise of many, a rather good husband.

It took two years before she discovered she was with child. She had been half afraid he would stop touching her then, because the goal, for the moment, was fulfilled, and it was, after all, a very logical arrangement.

Her fear had been unfounded.

---

On the third floor of the northeastern building was a formal conference room that was usually used for hosting rare visitations from foreign delegations. The scene she found therein upon entrance was far from formal, however.

"You're late, Sakura-chan," came the admonishment from the head of the elongated table.

Uzumaki Naruto had his unshod feet resting on the polished table, his headdress sitting rumpled atop a pile of official-looking documents. Kiba was more or less reclined in the same way, while his faithful Akamaru wrestled with a haunch of roasted pork underneath the table. A couple of other jounins were in similar poses of relaxations. On the other hand, Aburame Shino, as well as a stiff-looking chuunin, sat straight as pokers, dignified.

The chuunin stumbled to his feet and bowed to her respectfully. "Sakura-sensei," he said tensely. "I apologize for the short notice."

"We were vague on purpose, Sakura-chan," Naruto interrupted with a grin. "The meetings were getting long and boring, And you know, I have to rest sometime, right?"

"Rokudaime-sama," she admonished with an exasperated sigh. "Shishou would skin you, if she saw what you guys did to this place."

"Tsunade-obaachan's out drinking with Pervert-sennin." Naruto waved her away. "Anyway." He brought his feet down, sat up straight, and pulled on his wide-brimmed hat. "I called you guys here to talk about the farming village in southeast Fire. They want us to steal farming techniques from the Grass country."

"Hokage-sama," spoke up the chuunin nervously. "I believe the commission was for our ninjas to research on the agricultural technologies of our esteemed neighbors."

"Which amounts to stealing," their blond leader finished. "Those guys are pretty fanatic about rice, you know. It's not like they're going to hand out flyers to us."

"I heard they sodomize–"

"Shut up, Kiba."

"Anyway," one of the jounins continued. "The Fire country and Grass country governments are hammering out a delicate partnership in agricultural research. It would be. . . shall we say, embarrassing? If ninjas are found involved in the transaction."

"It's not something new," pointed out the Hokage a tad irritably. "Basically, we're also being paid to keep out of it."

"So we've turned down the request from the quaint little farming village?" Sakura asked with a hidden smile, somehow guessing where the scenario was heading to.

"Of course not. We're going to do something about the farming problem ourselves."

Sakura thought this over, trying to determine her would be role in another of the Rokudaime's humanitarian projects. "I'm a mednin, Hokage-sama," she finally admitted. "In this case, I'm not sure what I can do, even if it is a disease process behind the Southern Fire famine."

"You know that area was annexed by the Sound at some point, right?" Kiba spoke up.

"And?"

"A lot of people died."

Sakura nodded.

"Basically, the earth has gotten so saturated with the people's body fluids that it no longer supports the growth of the local flora."

". . . really?" the mednin croaked, wide-eyed.

"NO!" came the chorus from the rest of the room.

"It sounded too scientific coming from Kiba-san," she said defensively.

"Hey!"

"Which should have immediately suggested he was in fact misleading you," pointed out Shino. "As it was obviously something he was merely parroting back."

"Hey, again!"

Sakura rubbed her aching head. "You guys. . ."

"Anyway." Naruto finally disposed of his bratty grin. "The southern fields are poisoned by the wastes made by the Sound's experiments. If we can go back to using those fields, the southern villages would be able to grow their own food, without having to buy more expensive rice from the other villages or wait for rations from the Fire government."

"It'll save the crop market and end famine," summarized Sakura.

"Right."

"Well, there's this process called phyloremediation–"

"Yeah," Naruto nodded vehemently. "That. Phylowatchamacalit. We've been talking about planting sunflowers in those fields."

"Sunflowers?"

"Shikamaru said they absorb metals from the soil." The Hokage shrugged, looking rather like his thirteen-year-old self for a moment. "Dunno the details."

"Shikamaru's involved?"

"Not really. But he told me to talk to Ino. So I guess, can you talk to Ino, Sakura-chan?"

"Huh? Why can't Shikamaru talk to Ino?"

"He's out of town." Naruto shrugged again. "Anyway, I don't have enough manpower for this, so some of the genins will be heading out next week. I can't really pull the research ninjas for this, so I'm sorta relying on you guys. . ."

"And Shino'll be trying out his bugs," volunteered Kiba.

"The bugs will eat the adulterants?" asked Sakura.

"We've already broken down the soil components," spoke up the recalcitrant wielder of insects. "The bacteria in the guts of this particular species of beetles metabolize most of the pollutants found in the initial soil samples. We'll let nature do its cleansing."

"So that concludes our meeting?" Naruto said, stretching as he stood up.

"Not quite," Sakura said. "I don't really get my part in all this."

The Hokage blinked. "You're not involved in it, Sakura-chan. Except for the talking to Ino part. Take a walk with me."

Sakura sighed, only somewhat exasperated. "Fine, Hokage-sama. Fine."

---

On her way home that afternoon, Sakura passed by the Nara's. Shikamaru, she knew, was out of town, but Ino's absence was conspicuous. Usually, one of them would be staying with the twins, but when Sakura passed by the Yamanaka flower shop next, it confirmed her suspicion. She clearly heard the excited babble of the twins, laced by the admonishments of their grandmother, as a customer shuffled out of the shop with an armful of periwinkle lilies. Briefly, Sakura toyed with the idea of inquiring from Ino's mother, but then decided against it. She walked on, instead, to the fruit seller around the next street corner. She had to dispose of the fruit basket's contents earlier that day. Some of the apples at the bottom had gone bad and had spread the spoilage to the other fruits stacked atop them.

She wanted to talk to Ino about a lot of things, not just about a generous donation of sunflower seedlings. A few cooking tips were much needed to infuse her culinary repertoire with a bit of variety. And if she has gathered enough guts, perhaps, she'd nudge a couple of suggestions on marital issues.

Sakura brought the apple to her nose, breathing in the tart woodsy smell. She chose a few of the really sweet ones, which she preferred, then filled up the receptacle of the hanging scale with the really crispy ones, which he preferred. Naruto, never one to hide behind pretenses, had been blunt with her: he wanted her to talk to Sasuke.

"The elders don't really care whether or not he's involved in this," the Hokage had said earlier. They'd probably like it better, if he wasn't, Sakura thought. However, she agreed with Naruto that it was only right her husband be involved in the reinstatement of the military police, now that they had budget for it. The MP, after all, had been virtually _the_ Uchiha clan.

Nowadays, the Uchiha clan were just him and her—that wouldn't quite fill the rosters. Still, it was the sort of thing Sasuke should be at least looking on in. As she expected, however, he hadn't really committed to anything when the village formally offered a post to him (which post she wasn't told.) Naruto said it was the sort of thing Sasuke would be interested in. Naruto said she'd be able to figure out what's causing his reluctance. Naruto said Sasuke'd definitely open up to her.

Naruto said a lot.

When Sakura paid for the fourteen pieces of apples she bought, she had to pay for a couple of tomatoes, as well. They had rolled off the haphazard stack when her sleeve got caught as she stretched to obtain the paper bag from the vendor. One of the soft fruits she was able to catch, but the other one plopped to the dirt road. She left behind its messy carcass, footing it aside where nobody would trip, but she bought the other one and tossed it into the bag, the odd one out.

---

The spell of mildness didn't last long. By the time she reached the threshold of her house, it was all she could do not to scramble inside to escape the frigid clutches of early twilight.

It was shockingly warm within, considering how her efforts from this morning had amounted to nothing—from what she remembered, at least. The heating system merely lurched in response to her tinkering, then grouchily resumed its inefficient toil. Perhaps, it started to behave properly after she left for work.

There were sounds coming from the kitchen, faint, but definite signs of movement. Sasuke was already in, then, and perhaps had already started preparing dinner.

She was wrong, of course. The heady feel of expanding air greeted her when she entered the kitchen. The buttery aroma of fresh frying wrapped itself about her and urged her to further explore. A complete meal was set on the table. Dinner was served.

Sakura smiled at the dark-haired man. "You know," she said coyly. "When I asked if you'd be around for dinner earlier, I wasn't implying you make it. Of course, your turn has been long due."

Shrimp, cucumber, and carrots where within the fluffy gold of the batter, she discovered. Hot rice and cold noodles he served soundlessly, as well as a jar of warmed sake. And oh—snow crabs!

"It's wonderful," she murmured in appreciation. "Really and truly."

He nodded in acknowledgment of her praises, even smiled slightly when she frowned in exasperation at the results of her attempt to extract the meat from the crustacean's segmented legs in perfect form. Though he didn't ask, she told him how her day went, about waking up early today, despite her previous night's vow to sleep in till noon, because of the cold—but wasn't he still there when that happened? She told him of her efforts to fix the old but usually reliable gas heater, that she had pretty much sewn up a poor fellow's decimated insides faster than she was able to figure out which end of the boiler was which, and that she was glad he was able to fix it. She told him about the slapdash meeting in the third floor conference room.

"Naruto said it had been your idea to get me involved in that project."

Sasuke shrugged dismissively.

"While I appreciate the recommendation," Sakura returned with a coquettish smile. "I have to tell you, I wasn't much use there. I am a pretty good mednin, but poisoned ecosystems are a little out of my league."

She didn't tell him that the emergency that had disrupted her lunch amounted to nothing. The fourteen year-old kunoichi had died on its way to the hospital. Though she had seen one done first hand, Sakura wasn't up to resurrecting people yet.

She asked him how his day went. He told her he didn't scout that far today, that he and his cell reclaimed a jounin's corpse from a ragtag bunch of Mist nins stranded in an outlying atoll off shore Fire country. He told her they had found the trail of a man who had defected from Konoha fifteen years ago, in a place so blatantly obvious, nobody thought to look, that the ex-jounin had a wife who died from consumption, had another ailing from a blood dyscracia, had five daughters, two dogs, twenty-seven chickens, and an albino cow. He didn't tell her whether or not they disposed of the said man. She didn't ask.

"Ne, Sasuke-kun," she asked at some point. "You are going to teach me how to operate the heating system, right?"

The question seemed to irritate her dark-disposed husband. "Not while we're eating," was his reply.

They finished the rest of their meal in silence.

---

With the boiler in working order, Sakura was able to indulge in her usual evening shower. She was in the middle of it, letting the descent of water hammer away the knots and stiffness from her lower back and neck, when she thought she heard the door creak open. She turned to look and saw the unruly head of Uchiha Sasuke materialize amidst the billowing steam. Through the jet of water cascading over her half-lidded eyes and the condensation frosting the shower door, his stony face seemed disembodied.

He was leaning against the immaculate tiles of the bathroom's farther wall. He watched her, as he waited for his turn, boredly, incidentally. Because she happened to be there in front of him. Because there was nothing else to look at. She turned back to face the showerhead and finished rinsing herself.

"So," she said conversationally, once she had turned off the tap. "Recovered yet from your little. . . snit?"

She heard the shower door open.

"Not yet?"

She squeezed the water from her hair. When she had coaxed the last drop of water from her rose-colored locks, she reached behind her expectantly. A few moments passed and her arm remained suspended in midair, the cooler air of the space far from her body icily fingering her damp skin. A questioning arch to her eyebrow, she turned to the figure shadowing the stall's entrance.

"Mother was the one who knew about the boiler's quirks best," the one-time missing nin said. "It was her idea to change from simple coal braziers to a centralized heating system."

She looked at him serenely. "Are you ready to talk to me now? Here?"

He turned on the tap.

"Sasuke-kun–!" Her unruffled exterior spasmed, slipped momentarily. "I'm finished here. Let me out."

He touched her. First, the small of her back, then, tracing the contours of her body, her buttocks. She shuddered, retreating into a protective hunch to escape his caresses, eyes shut tight, willing him, willing him away.

"Please," she said, hugging herself, keeping herself. "Please."

His first kiss went to her forehead, to the wrinkled junction where her eyebrows met. It wandered away to an eye, then back on track sliding down the bridge of her nose to the quivering fullness of her lower lip. His tongue was mouthwash spicy.

"Please," she mouthed, her voice diminished by the patter of water. "Please stop."

He relinquished her. She felt suddenly cold in spite of the violent barrage of heated water. She opened her eyes and met his red-rimmed glare.

_Please._

With a shuddering sigh, she pulled him down by the mess of his hair plastered about his pale face, led the petulant pucker of his lips to the aching peak of one breast. He lapped at the modest globe greedily, gratefully, then abandoned it for everything else. He engulfed her, so she could feel his body, lips on lips, breast on breast, crotch on crotch. . . and she grappled everything and anything, equaling his desperation, his heat, his wordless but vindictive avowals.

"You can't keep doing this," she gasped in between gasps, but she wasn't sure if he had heard her. By then, he was nestled deep in her, and she was formless in his embrace, half-wondering if it mattered whether he did or not.

---

She was lying, of course: she did have some complaints about her marriage occasionally.

Despite their respective pretenses, it was no longer a logical arrangement. She couldn't always objectively analyze the conundrums that crop up once in a while, much less provide easy, straightforward solutions for each. She couldn't always treat symptoms, much less cure everything.

He had never expected her to, but she still did sometimes.

---

One of the wonderful things about this old house was its sound plumbing; it afforded them long, massaging showers. Languor penetrated her bones almost as soon as she became settled in bed, worn by the pounding she had taken under the warm torrents. He lay beside her, though not quite closely enough. She would have appreciated the added warmth of his body, but she felt too lazy to scoot nearer him.

"I can't understand what that dobe is thinking," he muttered out of the blue.

"That's dobe-_sama_ to you," his wife corrected with a gratifying yawn.

"He—they—already talked to me," he growled. "How would nattering at my wife convince me?"

"Actually, I think he was counting more on the fact that I'm your nakama, comrade," she murmured sleepily. "Come closer, will you, Sasuke-kun? Cold."

He remained silent and still briefly, before doing what she asked. Sakura burrowed into her usual niche, a cheek and half a mouth pressed against his shoulder, and promptly slid into a doze.

After half an hour of silence, he spoke.

"I'll probably take on dobe-_sama_'s request," he told her damp head."We'll need the added source of income when the baby comes."

Too far gone in sleep, she only vaguely heard him.

First draft: 21:38 10/30/06

Final draft: 20:10 121106

Notes:

1. Written for 31days community theme for September 24, bioremediation.

2. When I first saw the theme "bioremediation," I thought of those bacteria they use for cleaning up oil spills in the ocean.

3. More stuff on phyloremediation and sunflowers are just a Wiki away. Hehe.


	4. penultimate

Disclaimer: Naruto is Kishimoto-sensei's property and he can keep it. :P Just borrowing to tie up loose ends.

**Tatters We Let - 4th fragment - penultimate**

"Once upon a time, there was a beautiful little bird, with a plumage the white of newly fallen snow and a lordly head full of ebon feathers as his crown. Though he was by nature a bird of prey, his talons were yet inexperienced in the art of hunting and his wings were yet unskilled in the dealings of the wind gods.

"This creature, see, was bound and imprisoned at a tender, young age, reft from the protection of his father by a fearsome predator. He was reduced into a pretty, ornamental song bird in a gilded cage, where to this day he sits, languishing and dreaming of breaking free and flying far, far away. . ."

There was a pregnant pause, as the storyteller took one of those dramatic stops she was infamous for. The pause gradually lengthened into an awkward silence.

"So what happens next?" Kai, one of the genins, finally dared ask.

Tenten shrugged. "Nothing. The bird sits in the cage and plots on how to take over the world."

The collective groan of exasperation was immense. The slim, sun-tanned jounin tried not to grin at the long-suffering expressions of her students, but it remained no secret that Tenten loved to tease her genin team, nearly as much as she loved to work them to the bone, training. They were a good bunch-strong, smart, and earnest-she valued deeply all that she had learned the year they have been under her.

"What?" she said. "You asked for something to pass time, and there you have it. Five minutes passed."

"We asked for something interesting, sensei," said Kai. "Not to be disrespectful, but your vignettes do tend to be pointless."

"Vignettes, huh?" Tenten pressed a knuckle against her chin. "Was gonna go for parables, actually, but that would sound holier-than-thou, huh?"

"Like the supremely holy lady of the house of Hyuuga," said Reichi, another genin, with a naughty smirk. "Holier than holy Hinata-hime."

"What are you talking about?" demanded Haruko, herself a Hyuuga. "Let me tell you something: Hinata-sama is as holy as she seems! If the Fire people believed in saints at all, she would have been canonized ten years ago."

Reichi's expression was undecipherable. ". . . you did not just say that."

The usually pale girl was blushing to the roots of her hair. "You started it," she accused. "But see, she really is super nice, I promise, and really, really pretty. I like her." She glared at her teammate.

"Sure, I like her, too," the boy conceded easily. "I mean, she's pretty hot. But she's awfully overdressed and my dad says she needs to get rid of her stuffy Hyuuga robes like stat-" He stopped abruptly, cowed by some remembered admonishment from the past.

"Your dad said what?" challenged the dark-haired girl. "Another big-boob gag?"

"Reichi's dad isn't an open pervert like he is," Kai said. She was willowy and titian-haired, the unspoken leader of the three. "It's probably boring politics stuff they usually say about the Hokage's wife. Let's so not go there."

The boy, whose soft features were comically prettier than the two girls', seemed to agree and turned to the supervising adult, who had kept her silence through out the exchange.

"Sensei," he whined, conveniently forgetting he even mentioned the Hyuuga. "How long do we have to keep wading through this sink hole? I want a real mission, with real enemies, and real shinobi battles."

"When I'm sure you won't end up real dead the first five minutes of a real mission," came their teacher's cheerful response.

All three returned to their hoeing with various grumbling.

"And it's called a vegetable garden," Tenten appended with relish. "Let's not offend our customers by calling their hobbies 'sinkholes.' And oh, Reichi-kun? You missed a spot there."

###

The monument of the Hokage was a common place, so common, in fact, that one could get sick of it without any real effort. None of the faces carved up there was particularly ugly. It was just that the entire thing was so out there, in your face, that you couldn't possibly want to see it every waking moment of your life. But there it was, and the only way to cope with it was to ignore it.

Little known fact: there was a lot of things going on inside that massive mound of earth. There were a handful of personal hideaways, a couple of office complexes, an extensive sprawl of laboratories, and an underground river that branched into rivulets as numerous as the caverns that proliferated the seemingly solid land mass.

Supposedly, those caverns could shelter the entire village population in a pinch, but nobody in the village's recent history knew enough about those secret spaces to lead mass evacuations during any of the past century's crises.

Aside from the more obscure special nins, another rumored inhabitant of the Hokage monument's innards was the blind blue-black catfish, which lived in the lightless waters. It was said to reach about seven feet long, often wandering its abysmal home by itself, and only reproducing once or twice in a lifetime. It fed on carrion of fellow cave dwellers-and anything else that happened to swim or sink their way. Adapting to the scarcity of food, they had delicate stomachs that would not stand gorging during time of abundance. Nature provided them with powerful toxins that paralyzed and slowed the metabolism of their victims, thus preserving the meat for later consumption. Unfortunately, those chemicals didn't prevent their victims from feeling whenever the catfish chose to rip off a chunk of leg or an arm in a feeding session. It was an excruciating way to go-there were actual survivors, believe it or not-and nobody thought it a good idea to fall in that river.

Evidently, that notion was foremost in the mind of Tenten's engaging playmate. What a merry little chase he had led her! They started with a casual walk through the wet market, rather like a lovers' romp full of sneaky glances and pretending the other didn't exist. One thing led to another, and the light flirting turned to an hour's worth of skulking through a condemned building-nothing whetted one's reproductive organs more than the constant threat of death in tight quarters. Probably thinking that he had shaken her off, the man literally slipped through a crack on the floor and had crawled under the floorboards for longer than Tenten herself cared to recall. They ended up, interestingly enough, in one of the old labs Orochimaru himself commandeered in his salad days, a place usually only accessible to the body cleaners.

Her prey-at that point, she had long dropped the coy admirer act-probably realized the same thing. He panicked, took a few wrong turns, and was as surprised as she was when they ended up in the labyrinthine caverns of under the Hokage monument. Granted, the unfamiliar environment was neither to their advantage, but in the end, she was able to turn their little situation to hers.

See, this guy may have exemplary evasive maneuvers. He may equal her in adaptability and resourcefulness. One thing he didn't have, however, was her arsenal.

It was a long dirty fight that was necessarily close-ranged due to the torturous paths carved by water millennia ago. The more destructive chakra- and weapons-based attacks were limited by the danger of having an entire mountain falling over their heads. It sadly scratched out the use of more exciting incendiaries and forced Tenten to rely on her lithe, flexible body and a trusted set of stabbing knives that all inevitably found their marks, albeit in varying depth of penetration.

Finally, he was trapped between a blade, a sheer rock face that extended far over their heads, and the pitch black waters of the underground river.

"Between" may be inaccurate. Her six-inch poniard was actually embedded in his belly, possibly skewering his guts several times, while quite artistically missing his vitals. In other words, a surgeon would find it a pain in the ass to piece him back together, but he'd probably live given rapid treatment.

"Pinned you in place now, didn't I?" Tenten, despite her exertions, retained her cheery disposition. "What's this I hear about you arranging a little accident for our hero's Number One Fan?"

"You know these groupies," the wiry man answered with aplomb-she had to give him a lot of credit for his guts, no pun intended. "Spending too much time chasing after flashy bastards. . . It's bound to acquaint one to any number of bad people out there. What's with a few of 'em maimed or killed? Peace-time population control. 'Course, I'd prefer to kill you myself, but at least, I'm assured you'd be butchered in the near future. You know what I mean?"

"I'm flattered, but I can't read through the thirty-year-old pomade slathered all over your icky non-hair." The kunoichi's tone remained conversational. "Why'd you decide to pick this project up, old boy? It didn't have to end this way. Weren't you getting promoted next month?"

"Thought you'd know from experience." Despite his efforts, the would-be assassin's breaths were becoming shorter as his body tried to compensate for lost blood. "Question is, did he even have to open his stiff lips? Tell you what to do. Or did you come salivating, hoping he'll give you a little something-something?"

"I'd suggest you hurry up and quit with the cryptic thing," Tenten quipped cheerfully, adjusting her grip on the hilt very slightly. "Feel that? I just nicked one of your bigger pipes. You don't want to bleed out down here, do you?"

The man's thin, long face stretched into a hideous grin. "I know your secret," he confided. "I know I don't owe the knife to the Godaime-can't see pass those knockers, can she? You realize, no matter how much bending you do, the real head of the Hyuuga has greater aspiration than domestic felicity with a second-rate weapon's expert."

"You have a way with words," Tenten conceded graciously. "But I'm getting bored. Do you have a point or do I have to amuse myself knitting a rug with your entrails?"

The man's lip curled further at the gruesome threat. "Should be grateful for warning," he said, sniggering now. "You can spread all you want, but the left hand of darkness is gonna continue scratching that over-ambitious fox-boy's balls and his sickly inbred wife's cl-" His narrow face, twisted with laughter and contempt, suddenly froze with hate. "W-what did you do, you vicious little cu-"

"Ah, ah, ah!" Impossibly, his captor was holding an admonishing finger to his nose. "Enough of the nasty name-calling. Oh, and you did that yourself. Laughter, in this case, isn't good medicine, 'coz that big pipe of yours we were talking about earlier? Poked through it while you were convulsing over your lame jokes."

It was quite evident how big the hole was. His face turned paper-white within seconds as blood drained into the space among the convolutions of his slowing guts.

"I know stuff, too, old boy," Tenten continued, as his heart ran out of fluid to pump. "I know that you made a boo-boo." She patted his straw-colored (and textured) hair pityingly. "And I know they know we know about you, which is why we're having this conversation and nobody's come to bail you out.

"Should be grateful," she echoed his earlier words. "If the Kowago had caught up with you, this would be longer drawn out. Your partner sold out, you know. We had to power-hose his remains from some poor woman's wall."

"T-that bastard Muritaka. . ."

"I wanted you to rot in a gaol for what you tried to do to the Number One Fan, you little fucker. It's not about what I get when I bend over or suck; I'm really, really fond of that well-meaning girl who has never done you or anybody else harm. So, as a reward for fucking up-"

She pushed the blade up higher, till it completely severed the aorta from its root, and stared unlaughing at the assassin who had unsuccessfully tried for the life of the Hokage's wife, stared at his eyes till they lost all sign of life, till he completely exsanguinated and died with a sputtering sigh.

"Should be grateful," she repeated. "You're not gonna feel the fishies eat you."

###

"Sensei," the mortified whisper came. "You can't be serious."

"Dead, Reichi-kun. Dead."

The collective groan not withstanding, Tenten bowed low and introduced her team.

"Good morning, Konoha!" she began.

"I'm Haruko!"

"Reichi."

"Kai, here!"

"And we are the professional Deep-shit spelunkers!"

". . . at your service," finished Reichi with little enthusiasm.

Nonetheless, Rock Lee beamed at them with overflowing pride. The importance of being earnest about ones work, be it a day of weeding a local garden or assassinating a genocidal tyrant, was that one'd be assured, deep in ones deepest soul, that one had done ones very best. He continued at length about witnessing first-hand the germination of Konoha's future in her very blessed soil.

Now kids rarely find such speeches riveting, but these three were making honest effort to appear that they were, if only to delay the inevitable.

"Alright, kiddies," their teacher announced when Lee paused to inhale. "Let's get the shit-spelunking started. Fight-o!"

And even though it was "barely past dawn's ass crack," as Reichi would say, and "us," only really constituted of sensei in spirit, and unclogging septic tanks wasn't really something to look forward to, the three genins lifted their shovels and went to work with a passable, "Yes, sensei."

Tenten turned her attention to Rock Lee at that point, clapping his shoulder warmly.

"Lee, I think they'll manage here," she said, leading him away. "I'm pretty sure you didn't intercept the poopie party just to give that rousing speech."

"Am I that transparent, Tenten-chan?" Lee asked with a sigh. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised at all."

"You can be, if you want to," she deadpanned. "I already promised I'd go, didn't I?"

She was referring to the formal function to launch the official reinstatement of Konoha's military police. As opposed to the hidden faces of the ANBU, the MP would function under clearly defined regulations and would be accountable to the village citizens. It was one of the tasks the Peace and Stability Initiative has set for the first decade following the reinstitution of Konohagakure no Sato as a shinobi center of power. Tenten was a member of the original task force, as was Lee.

"Is it my mother?"

Lee visibly flinched. "My dear comrade and friend-"

"Don't!" Tenten wailed, clutching at her twin buns of hair on her temples. "Don't start with your verbal obituary."

The dark-haired jounin looked a tad offended.

"I. Do. Not. Need. To. Hold. Au. Di. Tions. For. A. Suitable date."

"Your mother is merely concerned that your civil status might place you in circumstances that would make you vulnerable to the advances of the rogue wolves of the less appealing sex." Lee put up a chiding finger. "And I believe the term you want is omiai."

"I'd rather take my chances with said rogue wolves."

"Is it because of him?" The taijutsu expert was serious. "He cannot, must not, hold even your legacy hostage."

"You know, my students," Tenten said after a long pause. "They told me the reason why I don't get dates is because I'm such a dork."

"Tenten-chan-"

"Anyway, I'm glad they don't think it's because I'm the left hand of the left hand of the Surya."

"He'll never make a proper woman of you."

"Good. I never wanted to be some 'proper' woman."

Lee merely shook his head with disapproval, but uncharacteristically said nothing.

"You believe in his cause as much as I do."

"That I shall gracefully give you, Tenten-chan," Lee said. "It just upsets me that you are exposed to people's misunderstanding."

"The moment they don't misunderstand me, we're all in big trouble. Let them shirk unpleasant truths and all that."

"Yes," came the unhappy response.

"Thank you, Lee. Are you on your way to visit her?"

"Yes. Sakura-chan's art of healing is truly a wonder to behold, is it not?"

"Given, but we also have to thank sheer dumb luck. If Sakura hadn't gotten to her in time. . . If the messenger from Sand didn't survive that ambush to deliver the tip. . ."

Lee nodded emphatically. "Would you be willing to accept another unsolicited advice?"

The weapons expert merely raised an eyebrow.

"You should lend your ears even to you students' most innocuous banter."

"I always do." Tenten was a tad indignant.

Lee blinked. "I mean, right now."

True enough, when Tenten settled herself on a tree branch-making certain she was not on the downwind side, of course-she found her students embroiled in a discussion about the village's current events.

"Reichi-kun," Tenten was in time to catch the solid reasonableness of the bespectacled Kai. "I don't understand how your parents quarreling over your grandfather's affiliations has anything to do with our government being endangered by a dictatorial regime."

The young man, fair as the early morning and still roly-poly from unshed baby fat, bristled from her lack of understanding-or telepathic powers. Reichi had a tendency to assume everybody around him thought the exact same way he did and was often frustrated by the need to explain himself.

"Gramps is in the old folk's council, remember?" he asked, able to rein in his irritation. "Mom was like warning Dad not to get involved with Gramp's 'politics.' As in, 'you don't know what the Hokage's fanatics are capable of,' so he really shouldn't be staying too close or making enemies out of them."

Kai began the usual extraction process with her erratic teammate. "When you say fanatic, Reichi, to whom are you referring to?"

"Hokage-sama is surrounded by certain people." The response was evasive and the boy had shifted his eyes to somewhere behind her.

"Like?"

"Uchiha Sasuke."

"The man is being constantly watched by all sort of people. My father says he doesn't care enough to even try to influence anybody. He puts in his time at work, finishes his missions with exacting economy, then collects his pay at the end of the day. He's as domestic as they come."

Tenten wondered what the Uchiha Avenger would think about that, being called "domestic" by a thirteen-year-old girl.

"Rock Lee."

"Seriously?" Haruka piped up with some surprise. "Is it because his eyebrows scare you?"

"Hyuuga Neji-"

"He's his wife's cousin?"

"Nara Shikamaru-"

"He's the jounin commander."

"Akamichi Chouji-"

"He's the jounin commander's old cell mate. Don't you know about the InoShikaCho?"

"Aburame Shino."

"You hate bugs."

"Well, a lot of ninjas like those! What do they have in common?"

"They're all formidable special jounins? The Hokage attracts very talented people. It's part of his charisma and leadership qualities."

"And what are ninjas?" Reichi pressed intently. "What does sensei say?"

"Ninjas are weapons," Kai said, as she had learned by rote. "Whatever justifications we tell ourselves, be it an ideal or an ideology that would help us carry through, we are weapons."

"The Hokage has an impressive collection of weapons?"

"Reichi-kun," Kai said calmly. "These ninjas you mentioned aren't exactly pushovers. They don't seem the type to follow blindly, I mean. Wrong is wrong. We all subscribe to a certain morality, no matter how flimsy."

"Sort of," Haruka added.

"Yeah, but you gotta admit, Hokage-sama's a pretty cool guy. I mean, even I think he's cool."

"And that means what to me?"

Reichi ignored the lanky Hyuuga girl. "Dad used to really, really like the Rokudaime, you know. Until he married into the Hyuuga."

"What is wrong with Hinata-sama?" demanded Haruka.

At the same time, Kai protested, "He didn't marry into the Hyuuga. Hokage-sama doesn't use his last name anymore, so he can't even give his to her, because she married him after he became Hokage. Do you understand? She has to keep Hyuuga."

"So what is wrong with Hinata-sama?" Haruka repeated. She was testy now.

"I was getting to that," Reichi retorted, equally hot. He always did lose it with Haruka. "Dad doesn't like the whole clan-centered power thing. He was always kinda at odds with gramps and had always admired how Hokage-sama managed without the whole family loyalty crap. I mean, all that stuff with the Senju. . . the Uchiha. . ."

The girls looked puzzled.

"Anyway, I'm not supposed to know, so I can't tell."

"Oh, like with your mom and dad's fight," quipped Haruko.

"Ah, shut up. I was eavesdropping-so what?"

"Moving on," Kai interrupted. "What do you mean by family loyalty? And why are you throwing the names of those clans here?"

The dynastic struggles between these clans that has stretched for centuries remained by large unknown, though not by design. People tend to forget and refuse to remember what they didn't want to.

"My dad thinks if a person's got the aptitude for a job, his background shouldn't matter. Once a man has proven himself trustworthy, there's no reason to doubt him until his actions present reasons. Gramps doesn't like Rokudaime-sama. Father had thought he would herald true change to Konoha, but father couldn't say anything in his defense when he went off and married Hinata-sama."

"What _is_ wrong with Hinata-sama?" Haruko nearly screamed this time.

"Hokage-sama married her for political reasons," Kai said. "At least, that's the popular theory. Rokudaime-sama had never had the traditional backing of an ancient clan that have the capacity to consolidate power by keeping their secrets their own and thus their bloodline techniques inviolate. Clan support can determine the amount of influence a particular person wields in the village, particularly when it comes to the village governance, because these officials are in effect controlling these powerful weapons in the name of Konoha."

"The ninja's shadows seep deeply and extend far beyond a normal man's," Haruka quoted. "It is necessary to keep this cloud of darkness, lest our machinations be found and thwarted. In our world, it is expedient at times to keep the right hand ignorant of that of left one's activities."

". . . whatever," Reichi said after a moment's pause.

"You-!"

"Break it up," Kai said perfunctorily. "Anyway, Rokudaime has always had the backing from the 'wildcards,' people who don't always conform to family edicts. Besides, if he needs to, Rokudaime can manage to sway enough people, even in the most traditional families, to generate at least a discussion among its members."

"The Hyuuga?" Reichi said, as if he shouldn't even have to say it. "Hokage-sama may be noble and all that, but his closest advisers mayn't. If it was suggested to him that marrying her would strengthen his position, why shouldn't he listen?"

"Well, Hinata-sama has always been in love with Rokudaime," pointed out Haruka. "Even if it is as you say, can you imagine Rokudaime marrying for that reason?"

"They do have a highly romantic story," said Kai. "She stood behind him for years, quietly giving strength, counsel, and support. One hopeless battlefield, his eyes were opened to all she has been and could to his life. He sweeps her off her feet and defeats the hordes of Tamarind country on sheer will to see through a promised future with her."

". . ."

"What?" The redhead was a tad defensive. "Isn't it romantic?"

"Disgusting," Reichi sniffed. "Seems staged to me."

"I disagree," Haruko said. "I've seen them together. Hinata-sama by herself is a sight for sore eyes, but not because she has any sort of commanding presence. People say it has to do with Neji-sama and Hanabi-sama being beside her all the time, but I think the grown-ups follow Hinata-sama herself. She doesn't labor at being leader-like, but you know that she _is_ the clan head. It's hard to explain.

"But when she's with Hokage-sama. . ." Haruko took a deep breath. "Hinata-sama seems different. Not diminished, but somehow more. Brighter.

"They're almost painful to watch. They're like a quiet sun, unreachable and untouchable; they don't know they glow. They don't know we bask in their light and that this is how powerful they are."

Tenten would have bowed to Haruka there and then. These children. . . They see, they hear, but what they carry away was astounding, fresh, and unadulterated by years of experience, angst.

"Like I said," Haruka repeated after a brief pause. "Hinata-sama's awful nice. I really don't think they married for political reasons."

"And that's why she's a clan head, a Hokage's wife, a special jounin with too many 'ists' at the end of her name to count, while you are just a snot-nosed genin."

THWOCK.

"Aw, shit! I just had my uniform cleaned, you white-eyed fr-"

"No name calling," Kai admonished. "And you were doing so well with actually thinking, Reichi. Why don't you finish?"

Once again, Reichi visibly bristled but pointedly turned away from Haruka. "Let's say Hinata-sama and Rokudaime are harmless. Inert, as Gramps call it."

They're not though, that's the thing.

"The people around them aren't, however, and Gramps doesn't like it. I don't know what'll happen now. I don't know if dad's gonna listen to gramps now and join their group."

Haruka was irritated by his mysterious talk. "So what?" she asked ungraciously.

"My uncle's missing. Mom seriously doesn't want dad to get involve, 'coz. . . what if dad's next?"

Tenten blinked. The children started in unison.

"Ah, sensei!" Reichi scrambled to pick up his shovel. "How long. . ."

"Not that I appreciate my ducklings keeping a secret from sensei," Tenten said ruefully. "But did I manage to omit the importance of being discreet from your training?"

The three ducklings had the grace to look abashed.

"There are ears, my children," their sensei intoned. "Even amidst these hills of crap."

"S-sensei," Reichi said haltingly. "My gramps-"

"Has never hidden his disapproval of the Rokudaime Hokage," pointed out Kai, looking at her teacher with clear eyes. "That's not really news to sensei, is it?"

Tenten shook her head in amusement. Despite their constant bickering, they were loyal to each other to a fault.

"But what do you think, sensei?" Reichi insisted. "Who is right about Hokage-sama? Is it my dad or gramps?"

"I think you should listen to both their sides, Reichi-kun," came the sage reply. "It'll broaden your point of view, for one. As for being right, who's to say? I myself tend not to decide based on unverified second-hand information." She caught the speculative look the three exchanged. "I'm not saying you snoop around the Hokage's bedchamber either. That would be called peeping."

And mortified protestations came galore. Teenagers!

"By the way, Reichi, is this uncle of yours an eligible bachelor?"

"Huh?"

"See, I've been told I need to find someone to make me a proper woman."

"But sensei's not the proper woman type." He frowned thoughtfully. "Uncle's scared of getting married, so I guess you kinda suit each other. I can you hook up, of course, but won't that be creepy? I mean, I'd actually know what my uncle's doing. . ."

"Or who?" suggested Tenten with raised brows.

Reichi looked like he was about to lose his breakfast, but the Harukai struck, anyway, as punishment for the unwanted mental image.

"Aw, shit!" Reichi yelped, dodging flying chunks of sewage. "This is the problem with being the only dude in-ahhhhh!"

Thwock. Thwock. Splat.

"Thank you, ladies," said their sensei. "Unfortunately, Reichi's politically incorrect observation is quite obtuse." Tenten sighed. "I'm so glad none of you guys called Hinata-sama a whore, though, or I would have felt awful. I've done my share of chasing after men as hot as lava but as dense as solid rock."

The Harukai piled more hardened poo on Reichi, just on principle.

###

The most important thing to remember about a weapon is maintenance. To keep it in the optimal state, it must be lavished with the utmost attention from hilt to tip. Every battle must be preceded by meticulous preparation, a balanced immersion within fire and moisture, as if by the intense ministrations of a lover. In doing so, one would ensure the weapon would not buckle or fail in the heat of a duel, no matter how vigorously it is worked.

The quality of such ministration was what separated a passable technician from a weapons specialist.

Extended metaphors aside, the only reason she was currently on her knees dealing out said ministrations, was because she had lost a bet and she was too prideful to accept his mercy. He would have never asked for this himself-not that he was at all complaining. The only complaint he could probably offer at this point was how his splendid derriere was going to bruise like a delicate virgin's by tomorrow, but he would probably only think that up later, just to prevent himself from gushing on about her genius and technical acumen.

Not.

Old habits die hard, see, stoicism in this case. She pulled back to consider his smooth face, the vague quiver that marred his equanimity passing as soon as her wine-colored eyes met his milky ones. After a brief impasse, her mouth resumed its acrobatics, stressing him into the shape she wanted, tongue in place of tongs, teeth in place of hammer and anvil.

A brief shift in his breathing, she noted, smiling amidst her labors to let him know she noticed. She dipped her head, as if to bow deeply, and just as deeply, doused him in that one fluid movement. He hissed when her teeth scraped the shaft, not quite by accident, and followed it with a half-swallowed groan when she managed to engulf the entirety to the hilt, allowed her bodily reflex to deal the final blow.

She felt him cresting then, carried inexorably to his loss. And he should have shattered then, succumbed to her assault, but he reined her movement with an unfair jerk of her burgundy hair. Her mouth dropped in indignation and he took the occasion to pull away almost violently. His eyes were opaline as he stared at her, glazed with the pleasure he would never be able to express with words, but the admonishment in them was adamant.

What was it that offended his sensibilities, she wondered, even as she promised not to do it again-for now. Was it the sound she had elicited from him or the image of her, low and reduced and still wearing a cat-got-cream smile? She continued the ministrations with her hand, even as he pulled her to him. He kissed her then, was forceful and shaken, delving into her mouth as if to purify her.

Tenten resisted the urge to laugh at her delicate lover and merely allowed him access to his sheath, gracious as always in defeat.

"I was recognized," she confessed as the blade slid home.

"A necessary risk," he said to her ear shortly.

They concentrated on more pressing matters for a bit after than, until Tenten spoke up again.

"Reichi's uncle is-Ahh!-missing."

"Doesn't change anything."

"Can't move," she gasped. "Tight quarters."

"Confined?"

"No. Maybe I panicked."

"You reacted. If the Surya gets exposed. . ."

"Screw the Surya," she suggested, each word a punctuation. "Screw the Kowago."

"And me?" he managed, before disappearing into the ephemeral realm where he could be just

_Himself_

and nothing else.

She laughed wickedly as she joined him, her last cry seemingly more from pain than amusement.

They weren't exactly in comfortable quarters, but the pang she felt when he pulled away to straighten his ceremonial robes smarted for longer than usual. Hardly a pang, she might have quipped, but then she would have been forced to explain context and it wouldn't be funny anymore.

"Tell me again why we changed tack right in the middle," she said instead. "I was on my knees either way, so I didn't get the difference."

"You'd have been too occupied."

This was after all the usual way they avoided being overheard. Exchanging sensitive information in the midst of lovemaking usually covered all bases. Reading lips became impossible when a pair was spreading kisses up somebody's back. It threw off spies when one keened in appreciation of the other's vigor, thus preventing them from overhearing juicy details about blind items or up-coming marks. Passing documents or objects? A cinch and with so many options...

"I suppose you're right." She sighed as she redid her hair. "Ancient cairns in Wind country don't get many visitors. Their superstitions run along the lines of blood-thirsty ghouls ravening the flesh of infidel desecrators."

"And they tend not to gossip as much." Again with the inscrutable reasonableness.

"I guess, I'm relieved," Tenten confessed. "I thought that was you attempting to be a gentleman."

"I'm always a gentleman," her partner said without embarrassment. "Ladies first-excepting today."

"Neji." She gave him a long-suffering look. "When I make smart-mouth comments, people laugh. When you try to, they fear for their lives. Stop it; it's obscenely out of character."

He smiled at her boyishly. That too would be considered out of character by anyone but her. "I need another favor," he said as she finished fixing her clothing.

She quickly pulled her head through her outer shirt just to make sure he saw her raised eyebrow. Usually, he asked these little favors while in the throes of passion, not during his brand of post-coital sweet talk.

"An escort for that formal affair."

Her dubious look turned suspicious.

"Tenten," he said, again all reasonable. "I invited you to a dance, not an execution."

Now she was merely affronted.

"Fine, so I have been told it was high time to make you a proper woman."

When Tenten spoke, her voice was bereft of the casualness he had forced in his. "You will cripple me, you know," she told him. "You will cripple yourself."

"Hinata-sama is with child."

"I can see how that takes care of their divorce issue, but what about you crippling me?"

The emotions and thoughts in Neji's eyes were complicated. As always, he was wise enough not to give voice to their chaos.

"I can't fly very far if you bind me too close to you."

She touched a gentle hand to his face before taking her leave. "I'll think about it," she promised. "Incidentally, thank you."

". . . ?"

"Even if he was Reichi's uncle, I don't think I care, what with your news factored in."

"Aa."

Sometimes, she wondered whether Hyuuga Neji, too, received unsolicited advice about finding someone who would make him a proper man.

###

"Holy shit, sensei, you look like crap!"

Kai buried her face on a gloved hand, while her teammate Haruka knocked their teammate upside the head for his insolence.

Tenten actually had realized it herself, during the millisecond she spared to glance at a mirror while sprinting for work. She didn't have a chance to attempt some serious concealing, being the dedicated sensei she was. Today was her team's first official foray into a class B mission, and they were giddy as day-old colts.

"We apologize for our rude comrade," Kai said. "But with all due respect, sensei..."

"I'm patenting a new look," their teacher finally said. "Panda eyes. Goes with the odango."

"I am disappointed in you sensei," Reichi said sternly. "I know Class B mission are like pretty pedestrian for sensei." He paused for effect.

"Oh, wow, Reichi-kun learned a new word." Haruka's tone was as dull as her expression. "Wonder how long it took him to look it up in the dictionary."

The boy merely gave the Hyuuga a dirty look. "But this is our first Class B mission! Sensei should at least pretend to be enthusiastic for our sake."

"I'll be more enthusiastic if you don't talk as much," muttered the sensei. "The talk is even worse than sunlight."

Reichi's train of thought instantly changed direction. "Is it a hangover?" he asked in excitement. "Are you gonna puke all over the Harukai's shoes?"

Kai sighed. "No, Reichi," she said. "It's probably from being woken up several times every night the past week to solve minor problems."

"Huh? I didn't-"

"She's not just our sensei, you know," Haruka said tartly. "You have no idea how important sensei is, do you?"

The newly appointed co-captain of the military police did not get a lot of sleep. They haven't really formalized shifts for the captains, and an escalation scheme for more serious problems was still in the works. The on-duty MPs have been deciding on which superior to contact at random, only it turned out not to be so random, because she ended up being called for every trivial thing. Her tender-hearted officers couldn't bear to bother Mr. Family Man and his daintily delicate wife. The woman was pregnant, fine, but so has been a countless of others since the dawn of time. And who has it that snapped the vertebrae of an entire top-level assassin group just recently? The only taking-care he was doing, by some disreputable accounts, was what got her knocked up in the first place, and damn, was she inclined to believe it.

Reichi, meanwhile, pumped a fist into a palm in sudden realization. "So that's what Uchiha-sensei meant when he said he was to work with a hell-" He glanced hastily at his teacher. "Er, hellishly awesome partner."

That Sasuke, the weapons expert thought sourly. Substituted for one single mission-a Class D, at that-and her cute, innocent students were subverted with a few grunts. "I share the ice cube's sentiment," Tenten admitted but left it at that.

"So why were you paired up with Uchiha-sensei?" Reichi continued undeterred. "Does that mean you guys are like an evenly match with each other, so neither of you guys can abuse your powers?"

Listen to them be Uchiha-sensei all over him. "Something like that."

"Oh, wow. So sensei's that awesome?"

It _had_ to be some sort of pheromone thing.

"Reichi-kun," Tenten asked in spite of herself. "What happened to Sasuke being the Hokage's secret weapon of mass destruction?"

"Ah, Uchiha-sensei? Can't be. You know he's going to have a baby, right?"

Honestly. What was with this discrimination? Just because the rumored sex addict (again from disreputable sources) finally got his act together, he was instant saint to everyone and their grandfathers. The Kowago (the formal political group anyway) apparently was tolerant, if not outright approving, of the decision to make them co-captains. They were both seen as people with sufficient talents to get the job done, but not enough to be a threat. Sasuke now had too much at stake to break things the way they were. It was the perfect place to pin him down, a position elevated enough for the entire village to baby-sit him.

Never mind that Naruto had different reasons why he chose the two of them. It didn't matter, of course, that Sasuke didn't really give a rat's ass about the appointment, save it will help him stow enough savings to feed the brood he was planning on unleashing upon the unsuspecting earth. Meanwhile, nobody was going to watch the inert and harmless Tenten. It worked out pretty well.

"As much as Sasuke, in his full paranoid mode, want to hide the fact, it's getting pretty obvious," Tenten replied. "Sakura-san's starting to show." The mednin was blooming, as enchanting as the blossom she was named after. Hinata, however, was wilting from severe nausea and near-constant vomiting.

On top of everything else.

"By the way, Reichi, what happened to my date?"

"Uncle?" Reichi asked, then began chuckling. "Um, sensei, that might take a while. He's lying low, 'coz he kinda broke Hokage-sama's leg."

". . ."

"How," Haruka asked, feigning excruciating pain. "Could anybody kinda break _anybody_'s leg?"

"You heard about Hinata-sama being in the hospital, right?"

"As a matter of fact, I didn't," Haruka said frostily.

"Oh?" Reichi smirked. "I actually know something Hyuuga Haruka doesn't?"

"Shut up and tell us what happened! I mean- You know what I mean!"

"I dunno. . . this kinda violating their privacy and stuff."

Haruka tried and successfully caught the boy's shin with a loose twig.

"Alright, you Amazon! Geeze!"

Kai was curious, as well. "What did you eavesdrop on this time, Reichi?"

"Hinata-sama was on her way to Sand in a diplomatic mission or whatever. She got very sick along the way and had to be escorted back a couple of days ago."

So the official story went.

"I guess, uncle was kinda spying for gramps and then he went and said something stupid to Hokage-sama and congratulated him while he was on his way to pick up Hinata-sama from the hospital."

"We still don't get how Rokudaime broke his leg," Haruka said, obviously still irritated.

"I was getting to that!"

"Hokage-sama like went bug-eyed and was like gasping with his mouth open like a dying fish and was like surprised, right? And then he started running, like out in the hallways, and was trying to get to the other side of the building as fast as possible and all sorts of crazy stuff happened. He got ran over by a gurney, fell into a bedpan full of poop, and got pushed out of a window by a bunch of mednins rushing for an emergency. He was on the fourth floor, but he should have been fine. Only his foot got caught on a flower pot that just got fertilized and a caterpillar kinda flew up his nose and he fell in the trash incinerator."

"What did your uncle say?" Haruka demanded. "This is terrible!"

"Oh, that Hinata-sama's preggers."

Tenten herself hid a smile. The story was true enough, outlandish as it sounded. She acted appropriately attentive as the Harukai oohed and ahhed.

"So wait a minute," Kai said when she and Haruka finished their excited babble. "Didn't you say your Uncle was spying on the Hokage?"

"Uh..."

"So Hokage-sama didn't know yet and your uncle told him?"

"Yeah?"

"Oh wow," Haruka said with heavy sarcasm. "I guess it runs in the family."

"Hokage-sama was very happy," Reichi continued, ignoring his teammates. "He was like laughing and crying even as he was being rescued by the ANBU and it was really funny how all these people showed up and called him an idiot and all these names and congratulated him. . . weirdest shit ever. And Hinata-sama was like the only person nice to him and held his hand while the mednins set his leg. Sakura-san was so funny, shaking her head and calling him a pain, and Uchiha-sensei was like so pissed she had to run there. Hokage-sama and Hinata-sama were really happy, though."

"That's big time spying, Reichi-kun."

"Oh. I was with uncle for a doctor's appointment. So it's not really my fault this time."

"Awesome," Haruka murmured.

"I think Uncle was just showing off, 'coz he knew before other people. He totally didn't expect Hokage-sama's reaction."

And Reichi's uncle had to lay low, big time. He managed to piss off a whole bunch of people who had to take over Naruto's usual work load. The Hokage-sama got his work done, all right, and more, but he was a hard person to follow. He had his own ways of doing things, to say the least.

"So," Reichi closed. "That's how everyone found out Hokage-sama's pregnant. Well, except for you two, obviously."

Haruko bristled. "I really don't see how all that changed your opinion about Hokage-sama."

"Well, you know, having a baby could like levy more limitations on him? He'd have more to risk, I mean."

"Levy more limitations. . . you were spying on your gramps and uncle again, weren't you?"

"You can't prove that."

"We won't understand if you don't try to explain yourself," Kai reminded him.

"It's simple, kids: Hokage-sama's an oyabaka."

"Huh?"

"Hokage-sama's an oyabaka," Reichi repeated superiorly. "All oyabakas are good guys."

"What are you smoking?" Haruka demanded. "Oyabaka? As in stupid, doting parents? They're what?"

"You heard me. Principal Iruka is an oyabaka. My dad's an oyabaka. . ."

"We should have know it had something to do with your daddy complex," Haruka sniffed in contempt.

"Wait," Kai said, almost in spite of herself. "Does that mean Uchiha-san is an oyabaka, too?"

"You noticed that, too, huh?" Reichi said. "Uchiha-sensei reminds me of our family dog. After Pochi had her puppies, she growled at anyone who went near them. Sensei, please don't tell him I said that."

Tenten had to laugh at that point. It looked like in her students' scheme of things, Naruto was an idiot-parent, Sasuke was a recently-whelped female dog, and Reichi's uncle Samar was a notorious home wrecker.

And evidently still at large.

"All right, chickies," Tenten said, now in better spirits. "I think it's time for a little bit more detail about our mission."

The chorus of agreement was deafening.

"Can anybody summarize it for the group?"

"Our mission for today," Reichi proudly stated, "is to pick up top secret goods from the western border of Fire and deliver it to the Southern Fire fiefs."

"And also plant them, actually."

". . . what was that?"

"Sunflower seeds," their teacher explained brightly. "You're to plant several sacks of them."

The chorus of despair pretty much made her day.

###

A lovers' tryst by the moon-caressed sea was a romantic enough notion, but her reality was short a few details that rendered the scene a far cry from someone's rosy daydreams.

Let's start with the obvious: she wasn't exactly skinny dipping with some mysterious lothario she had just won a duel against on a sultry summer night. She had emerged chattering from the wintry water, her profile and lips blued by the moon and the cold respectively, stepping unto gorgeous black sands that were far too gravelly for her tired feet to luxuriate in. Her dress, as did her long dark hair, was heavy and clung to her in clumps. She felt very much like a mat of seaweeds washed ashore, and she wasn't sure if that was an improvement from feeling like a goldfish flushed down the toilet.

At least, she wasn't drowning.

It took close to an hour before she was washed out to the ocean. Not that she planned to make a habit of feeding the blind fish under the Hokage monument, but there again was where her adventures had led her. She learned another thing about the butt-ugly creatures: as ravenous as they came, they were far too delicate to try their jaws on something as sinewy as her. Or maybe it was all that sequins that turned them off-who knew?

See, the problem with being the left hand of the left hand of darkness was that she didn't have a set budget allocated for her needs and nobody gave a rat's ass about her social calendar. She was supposed to be fully booked tonight, but there were just too many people to take care of... What's a single gal to do?

Disappointment was a bitter balm to the few flesh wounds she managed to sustain. She tried not to let it overwhelm her, but she was at least two hours away from downtown Konoha by foot. There was no way she could make it to the formal ceremony to honor the MP chiefs.

And why shouldn't she be disappointed? (Even if it was just pretend disappointment, it still counted.) She sat through a mani and pedi without wriggling too much and snored through the hair and make-up bits. The washing-machine tumble through the underground river cleaned most of the blood off her more effectively than any prolonged ablutions, but the dress was dry-clean only. It was a pretty thing, actually, the pink of strawberry ice cream. It fit her torso like a glove, which made it a little difficult to evade a fast volley of punches, and her diaphanous skirt billowed out like a bowed blossom about her knees. (It was the anklets that gave her real trouble though, because the damned tinkling of the delicate silver charms whistled a warning to her opponent for each coming kick.) With her hair hanging loose in waves, she looked absolutely yummy, like a walking bowl of sundae, if she should say so herself.

Ah, but she was determined to stay positive, she reminded herself piously, even as she wriggled her toes in the sand. The abrasive grains felt better than the stickiness of blood, that's for sure. Everything had a silver lining. Even her toes had a silver lining and they looked downright delicious with the electric blue of her nail polish, particularly as encased in the strappy sandals with their six-inch heels. The dress was a sad loss, of course, but she divested them without a second thought right there by the water. It would get torn apart by birds to line their nests and unsuspecting turtles would choke on it, but both would make it harder to pin the dress-and the dead body scraps-on her.

Also on the positive side, she remembered that she did have a substitute number at home that wasn't quite escort material. It was a greenish-black sheath dress that could pass as a scarf, and would propagate the illusion that she had ri-long legs. If she hurried she could still crash the tail end of the party and be in attendance long enough not to be accused of standing up her date.

(Or of being a proper woman.)

Failing that, she had fair confidence that she'd be able to spin enough innuendo on sand, sushi, and the salty sea air to shut her friends up. If that tactic didn't work on said date, she had a back-up plan. Do I taste as salty as I smell or as hot as I look, she'd ask him, and he'd be far too occupied finding out to be pissy about it.

See, the last of the more trigger-happy members of the Kowago was happily part of the local food chain now, and it really was a fine night.

#end# 22:52 07062010

AN: Good grief, it's as long as the three other installments combined. Written for 31days community theme from September 26, 2005: Game and set to you, Quicksilver. Yes, almost four years later. I hope the last installment doesn't take half as long. As always, thank you for reading.


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